


Paterfamlias

by Talicor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Demon!Zarkon, F/F, F/M, Fantasy AU, Galra Big Bang, Galra Empire, Gen, Lotor runs away and everyone gets to pay, M/M, Multi, Nothing super shippy tbh, Zargar is married so expect old married person banter I guess, okay it might get a liiiiittle darker but nothing too crazy, pining Acxa too RIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 06:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talicor/pseuds/Talicor
Summary: Once upon a time, the kingdoms of Altea and Daibazaal were one. One in purpose, and one in border, their rulers joined in a seamless pact.Until things took their natural path, of course.Thousands of years after Daibazaal's fall, the once glorious empire is but a land of shadows--a husk of its former self and firmly in the grip of demons while Altea remains behind a barrier of sacred energy, keeping their kingdom in sovereign brilliance, easily protected from the creatures that inhabit their once-ally.That is, until a certain half-blood prince finds a way through, bringing the Emperor's wrath soon behind.(aka, Fantasy AU where Galra are demons/dark creatures/whatever)





	Paterfamlias

Countless beings would give their lives to merely lay their eyes upon the Demon Lord at a distance—from the crest of a nearby hill, perhaps. Countless more would give even greater to so much as brush the hem of his cape with a stray finger, or reaching claw from the groveling dust.

In a moment like this, Throk silently questions what price he’d paid for such privileged audience with His Majesty. Stone floors hard beneath his kneeling figure, he does his best not to absolutely cower before this entity—though his shoulders bowed with the strain. Ears acute, they flick at every scraping, slithering sound of the Emperor’s powerful tail. The mass of which currently found itself wrapping around his ribs.

“My—My Lord, I swear I know nothing more of this! I am loyal to you, why would I ever have reaso—!”

“When I ask for silence, I anticipate that is what I am to receive.”

Bearing down like an iron press, the Emperor’s voice is just as even as his stare, unwavering and holding all the intensity of stars. “I ask for explanation and elaboration of what occurred, and you give me groveling pleas. Deeming it a pity would be an understatement of the highest degree, Commander. It seems my judgement was in err when stepping away from the castle. I should have left my more accomplished members of the High Council behind.”

Eyes wide, the stripes down Throk’s narrow face distort as a snarl grows in place over sharp fangs, his thin frame struggling to push him back to his feet against the crushing weight of the Emperor’s displeased grip.  
“My Lord, I am _twice_ the—!“

“—Fool?” Zarkon’s words snap with all the severity of breaking bone as he closed his tail’s binding grip even tighter around his subject’s ribcage, bowing armor and buckling linked plates. “Yes, Throk, you’ve proven your incompetence to an alarming degree while I was away to the Nether.” Eyes flashing in the surrounding darkness of the throne room, he reaches forward to grip a narrow chin between metallic fingers, uncaring as his cold breath rasped over the lesser demon’s fine fur.

It didn’t take a genius to know those smoldering eyes would be the last he’d ever see if he didn’t act.

“A—Acxa, My Lord… t—the Prince’s private guard! Aren’t they worth questioning? I may have been set over the castle—ack! But they… They were the ones closest to him! They’d know more!”

The Emperor’s grip clenches once more. Sharp fingers now digging into his much softer cheeks, Throk does nothing, though thick droplets bead from the wounds, just short of streaking through his suede fur to the ground below.  
Please…

Short gasp—almost like a squeak—between his needle teeth, he shifts on his knees, hating how loud and hot his faint breath felt in his lungs, ghosting against the Emperor’s too-near and stony face.

Only when the armored strength eases from around his ribs, does he dare more than a mouthful of air, grateful as the massive hand drops his face from its hold.

Let them face your wrath, not me…

“Perhaps that is so, Throk… But do not take this as any display of favor.” Tail scraping along polished floors in a distinct chnk chnk chnk, its shape catches the faint torchlight on gleaming edges of segmented armor. “Have them summoned to me on your way out.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obsidian never truly knew the cold.

Indigo hands press flush against the polished stone, Haggar was well accustomed to its heat, that low thrum of power tied to realms beyond the mortal plane she now scoured.

Their son is alive, that much she knows, his heartbeat tethered to her own in golden and unblemished threads.

Around her, the room is pitch, streaked only by traced lines of violet in the air and over the floor, brushing the angles of her face in harsh light—though it’s not as if she paid any heed, golden threads trembling as she pulled closer and took hold.  
_You cannot hide forever, child._

Visions pass by, too quick to be glimpsed. Landscapes, skies, seas of fire, arcs of light. A forest calls to her, and she slips between its branches, the world wavering around her.

Towering walls rise before her, and—

She cries out. The spells fractures around her, stars falling from her vision, the light from the runes around her flickering and pulsating in discontent. Like scattered crystal shards, the magical remnants of her scrying lie in pieces around her, jagged at the edges from the force of a power than has only one name…

Sacred magic.

Her fists clench, shoulders risings, claws leaving no scores against the obsidian as they curl. Altea. Their son is in Altea.

The crystal focii set at the points of her spell circle wink out, their ethereal flames fading one by one. Just before darkness claims the chamber entirely, she rises, sweeping past the last, guttering light in a swirl of robes.

Her husband must hear of this immediately.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You don’t think he thinks we’re the ones to blame, do you?”

“Zethrid, nobody knows what goes on in the Emperor’s head, what kind of question is that?”

“I dunno.. A genuine one? Why else would we be standing here?” Clawed hands open, Zethrid’s lips tear into a knowing smirk, only earning Acxa’s eye roll in return.

“I’m sure things will be fine, I mean, we do have responsibility over the Prince, it’d be stupid to think we’d escape any questioning.” Speaking over folded arms, Acxa releases a soft sigh, shoulders against the wall.

_‘Why are we even discussing this again?’_ Materializing from the shadows, Kova settled in her arms, Narti tilts her cowled head, almost amused with the banter between the other two.

“Cause Zethrid gets easily bored, _duh_.” Sticking her tongue out, Ezor rocks on her heels, colors of her skin vivid and luminous against the otherwise mellow dim of the waiting hall. “And I mean.. What _else_ are we gonna talk about? The weather?”

Edging after her words, a sudden and formal chill spills from parting doors, their panels heavy and imbued with nothing more intricate than spell runes of silence and protection.  
For beyond them, the Emperor sits upon his throne in stoic expectation and shades of blood.

“It would not be wise to keep me waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, SO IT'S NOT A COMPLETE FIC RIGHT NOW LIKE ALL THE COOL KIDS
> 
> But my life is an ever-raging dumpster fire, and I owe JadeClover my heart and soul for helping me limp along in getting even this much ready to go of a final draft.
> 
> BUT once I get finals out of the way these next two weeks, expect to start seeing some regular updates!


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